


Fix My Mistakes

by QueenoftheBritons



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Deleted Scenes, Episode: s05e06 The Dark Tower, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Redeemed Morgana (Merlin), Songfic, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23882527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheBritons/pseuds/QueenoftheBritons
Summary: Arthur wonders whether he could have saved Morgana, questioning his own views on magic. His thoughts are further confused when Merlin admits his own secrets.
Relationships: Gwaine & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Mordred & Morgana (Merlin), Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 117





	Fix My Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this deleted scene: s5e6 (The Dark Tower): https://comin-up-for-air.tumblr.com/post/613671456474284032/deleted-scenes-5x06-im-not-crying-youre-crying

_When you try your best, but you don't succeed_

Arthur lay his arm beneath his head, propping it up slightly, giving himself the only comfort, he could find in this harsh situation. The darkness shadowed him and his surroundings, but he was aware of his servant’s presence beside him, attempting to ground him. At the moment, though, this moment of solitude, what could he do but think?

Every memory he had with Morgana now, felt tainted, somehow, with the knowledge of what she has become. She frustrated him, to no end, but they had always had that sort of bond. It hurt to find out she truly was related to him, because it revealed more secrets of his father that had been kept from him. He remembered, with fresh eyes, all those times Morgana had stood up to Uther, to him, for what was right, and now she had changed sides. Well, he was beginning to wonder…

Kicking his leg out, he stretched, letting out a soft hum in thought. He could feel Merlin’s eyes burning into him, whether out of sadness for him, or agreement that he could have offered some aid to Morgana, he did not want to know. Merlin and Morgana had seemed quite close, but all that was gone as quickly as you could blink. Had neither of them, Merlin nor Arthur, seemed trustworthy enough to confide in?

_When you get what you want, but not what you need_

His friendship with Morgana had blossomed quickly, and it was something he missed dearly. Friends now were few and hard to come by, but he had always been focused solely on one, anyway. His King, the man lying beside him, was his destiny.

Merlin felt the blame, and not a day went by when he did not regret his failures, did not play them in his head a thousand times over. At the time it felt right, it felt like the only option. Looking back, now, there had been many options. He had been led, easily, to the one which sealed their fate. Arthur’s fate.

Sitting, lying back as he listened to Arthur breath, slowly, with a melancholic air surrounding them both, Merlin let go of his own in a sweeping sigh. His friend did not notice, caught up in his own missteps, his own failings. His servant spared him a sad, tearful stare, wishing to say something. That they were both equals right at this moment, they both made mistakes with Morgana.

_When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep_

Arthur was stuck in his own head, wondering, _were they the right side_? Often he listened to advice, from his father, from his uncle, sometimes even from Merlin. He always thought, always _believed_ , that the actions he took were the right ones. That he had always followed the correct path and was a good king. A good person.

Morgana was becoming more like Uther, but what was he doing to separate himself from the feared king? His father was a great man, but Arthur could not deny that he had isolated many. Even his own kin, for the sake of his damn legacy and his fear and his _hatred_.

He felt tired, his bones on fire, his eyes stinging, his heart falling into the night. There was little wind that night to cool him, to cool his ire, and he blinked his eyes for a moment to offer some respite. Behind closed lids, though, the images of days past were only amplified, the colour of his memories shining brightly in his dreams. Blinking his eyes open, he huffed, not at all bothered at the thought of staying awake tonight. No, it was rather the thought of falling asleep, that perturbed him more.

_Stuck in reverse_

“You shouldn’t dwell on it,” Merlin heard himself say into the night, in a whisper. Arthur barely inclined his head, but grunted in response. That was all the response it seemed he would receive, and it was more than expected. His friend did not realise how similar they were, could never know, that they could shoulder this blame between them.

Eyes glowing in the moonlight, Merlin stared into the sky, memories already conjured up but he dare not look at them. It was late, and he had enough reasons he could not sleep at night. Each night, his mind supplied a new one, and it seemed Arthur had offered it willingly.

How could he ask Arthur not to dwell, when it was all he ever did? He wondered what good it was doing, but making him only more paranoid. Remembering meeting Morgana, the first time, and their following meetings, it was strange to think of her when she might not have been so full of rage. Still, he knew better to believe that she was not full of that same rage when they had met. She just believed she had friends.

_When the tears come streaming down your face_

Arthur felt Merlin flinch beside him, but did not acknowledge it. Turning away, he knew the other knights were sleeping easily, it would be him alone to greet the light of day when it dawned. Perhaps his servant would be by his side, too, as he always was. It was a pity for Merlin, but he was grateful for the support.

Folding his arms now, finding no comfort with whatever position his body took, feeling an itch deep within his soul, he cleared his throat. His mouth felt achingly dry, but he was too weary to grab his water. As if it could cleanse him, somehow, of all his wrongdoings. Because he must have gone wrong, somewhere, or Morgana would have trusted him with her secret.

Even now, he was giving himself too much credit. Because she had. His sister had come to him many times with dreams that foretold the future, that could never be explained away, and he always gave her the same response. He smacked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, feeling a bitter taste as he recalled the laughter. As he recalled her pleads for him not to do something, or to follow his heart, and he _laughed._

“Could I have?” He whispered, “could I have saved her?”

_When you lose something you can't replace_

Merlin blinked, fumbling, surprised to hear Arthur’s voice after a silence had blanketed over the pair while the other knights rested, unaware of the demons chasing these two men. The demons of their own creation, he knew.

“It was your father Morgana despised,” he said instead.

“That’s not what I asked,” Arthur enunciated each word clearly, not ready to leave off the topic. “She still attacks us, she sees him in me.”

Merlin heard his friend let out a deep, depressing sigh, as he tried to find his next words.

“If she does not despise us all, we would not be here, Merlin.” The king spoke instead, each word tinged with exhaustion, regret.

The servant said nothing more, not sure if he could add more, even if Arthur expected him to. He knew the reasons Morgana had not returned to them, once Uther died. There was nobody for her at Camelot, because they all turned a blind eye to her please once before. They had all watched as she unfolded; Morgana had chosen to follow Morgause, and her old friends had guided the way.

_When you love someone, but it goes to waste_

Rolling over, away from Merlin, because he could not bear the thought that his servant blamed him, too. The distraction from his question, the silence following, only confirmed Arthur’s beliefs. The king felt sick, revolted by his own anxieties, his own wonderings. All he could imagine, all he kept on thinking about, were his memories with Morgana.

She drove him insane, plenty of times. When it was revealed she was truly his sister, their dynamic would have stayed the same. Could have stayed the same. He listened to the advice of others often, and Morgana had been included in that. She drove him insane, but she was wise. She was kind, she was just, and she cared for the people. Morgana understood the king Arthur wanted to be, and would have been a valued aide.

Instead, he trusted all the wrong people. People who did not have magic, but still betrayed him. It often made him wonder, had his father been right, about magic? Thinking of Morgana, the innocent girl he had grown up with, now the sorceress who fought against him at every turn. Was it her leading him and his men to their doom, or had he paved that path a long time ago?

_Could it be worse?_

Merlin wished to say something to his king, his own failings burrowing in his skull like an infestation. He had seen so much already, had caused so much heartbreak. Arthur was partly to blame for Morgana’s descent, but Merlin had to carry the majority of the blame himself. It pained him to know that they were so close, lying side by side, almost touching. Neither could reach out to the other, though, because one believed the other could not understand his misery, and the other understood it too well. Knowing he might be able to relieve Arthur’s own depression was just another fault to add to his list.

The night was silent, save for the soft, restful breaths of the knights surrounding him. What he feared, though, he could not be protected from. Morgana’s voice rustled against the trees, her choking gasps as he had once held her were carried by the wind, and her panicked face followed him around wherever he went.

At the time, Merlin might have thought they had lost Morgana earlier. He was wrong. It was Merlin they were losing, the boy he once knew. When he poisoned Morgana, with her final breaths, he lost more of himself than he knew. How many had he taken, now? Morgana was not dead, but her soul was gone to them.

Arthur could not have saved Morgana. Alone. Merlin, on the other hand, could have. He at least could have done more than he did. Kilgharrah had warned him against revealing his magic to her, revealing her own magic to her, and he failed to stifle the bitter huff of laughter leave his mouth. What damage he had done, he thought, swallowing hard. What damage could he have done, speaking to her. Letting her know she was not, and never would be, alone. 

_Lights will guide you home_

The dawn was arriving, sunlight gleaming, burning into Arthur’s sore eyes. Soon, he would wake the rest of them, and take them to face his sister. They were walking into a trap, but there was no turning back anymore. Was everything so set in stone, now?

Every time he saw her, his eyes catching her, less and less now, he felt the regret weigh him down. His movements were sluggish, his heart racing, as it seeped through every pore of his body until he felt there was no goodness left inside him. Did Morgana feel the same? Or was it only the hatred coursing through her veins now, when she lay her eyes on him?

Would Morgana lie awake at night, thinking of their favourable memories together? Of when she beat him, because, yes, it did happen? Of when they fought side by side? Or was it the times he was deaf to her pleas, to her judgements, to her absolutely fair arguments against his father? He remembers, painfully, when Uther grabbed her by the throat, as if she were nothing. As if she was a piece of dirt, even before he knew of her magic. The way he had stared at her, with fury in his eyes, and Arthur had stood idly by, too afraid to stand up to his father. Morgana had such fear in her eyes, widening as they pleaded for him to let her go, to free her from the misery she suffered.

_And ignite your bones_

As Arthur readied his men, the sunlight burnt through Merlin’s skin, a night of horrors still playing on his mind. Rolling his shoulders, he stood, cracking the bones in his body as he stretched. Was he ready for what the day ahead held? Would he ever be ready, really, to face Morgana? Knowing that he had played such an instrumental part in everything she had become?

He needed to be strong, though. He needed them all to think that he was strong, that he could cope. As Morgana once had. Because she always appeared so strong, so fearless; she was the only person he knew capable of arguing with Uther, refusing to back down because she always believed in what was right. She was never wrong, he knew. Right now, she had strayed from the path, but Morgana had been on the path of good. Had he?

Standing straight, he mirrored Arthur in his stance, both men acting well. Both men aware that they had shared the night together, awake, dreamless, peaceless. Memories, ghosts, haunting them at every single turn. Arthur, still, believed he was completely alone in his blame, in his torture. He never was, but he could never know. Merlin was alone in that way.

_And I will try to fix you_

They were going home, far away from the dreaded tower now. Guinevere was saved, but they lost a good man that day. And still, Arthur felt that they had lost a lot more. Did Morgana have a home? Or were these terrors she reaped on them the only resemblance of a life she got anymore? Could she ever be happy? Could he?

It had not been a long time since Arthur had sworn that magic had no place in Camelot, with a hard resolution. But, there had been a doubt. There still was a doubt, niggling in his mind, and he continued to question his choice. He had never made a clear stance on magic until that moment, but it had been a moment that was rushed, that hindered on the life of one of his knights.

Did Morgana know? Did she sense that he had made the decision, to cast out magic, as his father had before him? Was she wandering, alone in the world, the hate festering within her, knowing that he would never accept magic? Did it hurt her inside? It hurt him, to think so. It hurt him to know that should she come back to Camelot, to her home, still, and ask for forgiveness, he would give it. It hurt, because she would never know it. She would never believe it. She would never _accept_ his forgiveness, but he would give it in a heartbeat, just to see her smile. To see the sister he grew up with, magic or not. It was only hatred, really, that changed her.

* * *

_Tears stream down your face_

Merlin stared, unable to pull his teary eyes away from his friend. He waited, stock still, with bated breath, watching the silent, stony king. His heart was beating so fast, he could feel it, trying to break free. He wanted to take his words back, to suck them back in and go back to normal, to the secrecy they were used to. He expected Arthur to shout, scream, show some real anger towards him, when he finally told him. There had been a part of him hopeful, thinking maybe, just maybe, Arthur would instantly accept it. That part of him was silent, now, having been stared down by the more rational part of him. The more rational part which was, right now, panicking, too.

Arthur _had_ to know, though. This was for the best, Merlin was sure. Maybe… Maybe he would be banished, or executed, or what. The secrecy had been tearing inside him, scratching against his bones, his soul, his very being. Arthur was not just a king to him, but a friend, and he had to know.

“I need you to leave,”

Merlin sputtered, shocked anything came out at all. He gaped, mouth opening and closing, afraid, confused. “Leave?”

“The room,” Arthur clarified, thankfully. Kindly. Still, there was a shadow crossing his features, and Merlin knew the kindness was fleeting.

He blinked, wondering if he should say more. Would he even be able to speak?

Swallowing, he nodded, and then did so again, before fumbling out of the room with a quick step.

_When you lose something you cannot replace_

Arthur was confused, scared, utterly lost. Merlin told him he had magic, that he only used it for him, that he was on his side… He had said so much, but the king had hardly registered much after the admission that his closest friend, his closest ally, had magic. Burying his head in his hands, then rushing them through his hair with a weariness older than himself, he grunted.

He threw something. He had not checked what it was, it was just a stray object on his desk. It was easy to grab, to just throw it away, discard it and dispel the anger he felt. The rush of emotions that came out, as he screamed, throwing something else. The third thing he threw was apparently fragile, as he heard it smash across the floor, the clatter bringing him back to earth.

His heart pounded against his chest as he heaved, his breathing loud, his anger even louder. He was completely lost, unsure what to do. This man, this idiot who followed him everywhere, who had had such inconsistent opinions of magic, now that he really thought about it, was telling him he had magic. That he had been _born with magic_. He threw himself backwards in his chair, surprised when it toppled a little, but he caught himself quickly enough.

~~~~~

“Do you still trust him?” Gwen asked, her face set sensibly, suggesting she thought no less of their friend. They had been close for such a long time; she would always trust Merlin.

“Yes. No? I don’t know,” he growled out, rubbing at tired eyes.

“He’s still Merlin,” she said sweetly, “he’s never hurt you, Arthur. He’s always been at your side.”

“I know,” he sighed, staring at her with sad, weak eyes.

“Then why are you so angry?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, lying.

It was always the same reason, haunting him. It was _him_ , he was the reason. Merlin had told him, but how long had it been? How long had the secrecy gone on? He thought he might have shown Merlin that he trusted him, that he cared for him, with everything he had. But it was _never_ enough. It had never been enough, for anyone. Because there was always _more_ he could have done. If he had opened his eyes, if he had not denied what was right in front of him with Merlin, with Morgana, things could have been different.

Merlin and Morgana had stayed quiet because of Uther, for fear that they would be executed. When his father died, though, there was still a deafening silence, because he had followed his father’s advice too closely. Had idolised his father too fatefully, and the mistakes haunted him wherever he looked. Morgana was nowhere to be found, but now, when he looked at Merlin, everything was there for everyone to see. ‘My Mistake’ could be written across the servant’s forehead, and whoever else he had ruined, he had damned.

He felt Gwen wrap a hand around his clenched fist, rubbing a thumb across his knuckles kindly, but her eyes were pleading.

_Tears streaming down your face_

Merlin tapped his foot incessantly, head bent, shoulders hunched, as Gwaine tried and failed to fill him with ale to sooth his worries. It had been days since Arthur had called for him, and Merlin’s hope was dwindling by the second. He was utterly miserable and beginning to regret ever uttering the admission.

“He’ll come ‘round,” Gwaine slapped him across the back, and Merlin looked up, glaring. “If he doesn’t, he’ll have me to deal with.”

The warlock smiled nervously at that, knowing that Gwaine was being completely honest. Arthur would definitely regret sending Merlin to the pyre if it meant he had to live with an even more belligerent Gwaine.

“And I’m sure it won’t just be me.” Gwaine winked, offering a kind smile. A sympathetic smile, one Merlin kept seeing, one he did not want to see. There was only one smile he wanted to see right now, but the owner was keeping well away. 

Gwen had told him she thought he was beginning to see sense, but her expression suggested otherwise. If he could have just _explained,_ properly, everything, maybe he stood more of a chance. But Arthur refused to see him, having George do his job for now, and Merlin knew how much he despised George. Did he despise Merlin now?

He felt a pain in his chest, placing a hand over his heart subconsciously. He noticed Gwaine watching him intently, and decided he might take the drink after all.

_I promise you I will learn from my mistakes_

Merlin came bounding into the room, heading straight toward him, and Arthur could not remember how long it had been since he had last seen him, but his heart felt lighter the moment their eyes met once more. He stood up quickly, instantly, eyes never leaving the blue of Merlin’s, trying to focus on that and that alone while he waited in the silence.

“Arthur, please, I’m _sorry_ ,”

“Don’t,” he put a hand up, already too pained by the desperate sound of Merlin’s frightened voice. The man was trying to be strong, but he could see what the days apart had done to him, and no doubt Merlin could see what it had done to Arthur as he tried to solve this issue. The problem was, though, that Merlin did not realise he was solving his own issue.

Merlin eyed him cautiously, wanting, aching, to say more. To stand his ground, before Arthur might say something that would damage them forever. But Arthur had made too many mistakes now to not take from them a single lesson, he had worked too damn hard to follow the path of righteousness to only end up denouncing everyone he ever loved and held dear. No, he would not make the same mistake twice, he would not lose another. He _could_ not lose another he loved with every bone inside of him.

“Merlin, I am sorry. Truly, for everything you have been through,” his words came out a little harsher than he had meant them to, so he softened his tone as he focused himself. “I do not believe you are evil, because, frankly, you’re just not capable of that.” His attempt at levity was only met with silence, Merlin digesting his words carefully. “You know that I have already lost someone dear to me,”

“Not to magic,” Merlin interrupted, coolly.

“Will you let me finish?” He sighed, scratching at his temple. It appeared even when he was trying to make amends, Merlin continued to be his stubborn, infuriating self. He might not be evil, but he could be annoying at times. “No, it was not to magic. It was to my own ignorance, my own harshness. Because of this, Morgana could not turn to me in her time of need, and you have had to hold on to your own secret for so long.”

“I wanted to tell you,” Merlin muttered, blushing slightly, but nevertheless still standing his ground.

“I know,” Arthur nodded, “I know why you didn’t. I need you to know, Merlin, that I will not lose anyone else. I cannot lose someone I love again, not like this.”

Merlin stared at him, conflict written over his face, confused what he should be focusing on. Arthur, though, would not let him speak yet. He would get back to that admission in a moment, but he still needed to get through this, he needed to tell Merlin, to show him what he meant.

He grabbed his hand, and was grateful when Merlin didn’t flinch from the touch, but wrapped his own hand weakly in the grasp. Merlin’s eyes fell to the clasp, the union, and Arthur smiled tenderly, giving the man a moment.

“Merlin,” he spoke, his words rubbing against the other man’s skin. “I need you to know, you can trust me.”

Merlin looked up, his eyes full of hope but still an ounce of caution within, buried in his deep blue eyes. It would not be gone in a moment, Arthur knew, but he could start burning out the fire as soon as possible.

“I trust you,” Merlin whispered. “I’m just, confused…”

“I was, too. I’ve been thinking about it all, and I can see the mistakes I’ve made so clearly. I will not have you as another casualty of my weakness, of my father’s own fears, not mine.”

“And this?” Merlin brought their hands up, still clasped together.

Arthur smiled, “I’ve had quite a time to think,” he shrugged.

_Lights will guide you home_

Merlin knew things would not change in a night. Or even a month, for that matter. It took a couple of years just to change attitudes of many of the nobles. Some, a little hesitant at first to admit, were enthusiastic about a return of magic. Others, however, believed Arthur was undoing everything Uther had perfected. Destroying Uther’s legacy. Thankfully, Merlin saw now just how much the years had changed Arthur, his king, the true king, finally. No longer believing everything his father did was the right way, no longer staying on the same path because it had worked before, when it evidently had not.

There had been much chipping away, work had to be done. Arthur swore to him that he would get this done because he had to show Merlin, and every other magic user in Camelot, that he was no longer afraid. That they should no longer be afraid, because he was The Once and Future King.

The warlock found himself smiling most days, a warmth filling him and never really stopping. There was a spring in his step, as he felt lighter than he ever had. Even though it had been a gruelling process, people eyeing him suspiciously, rudely, whispering cruel rumours against him to sour his name. They had no idea that their rumours meant nothing to him against the memories he had of his secrecy, of the lives lost, of the hardships he endured. Their glares were nothing, only pitiful, when compared to the life he had led. If they believed he was afraid of them then they were sorely mistaken, because he had faced so much worse, and he refused to do so again. If they stood in his way, then so be it. Plus, it helped to have the knights handy, beside him, to offer their own support. Sometimes silent, sometimes… not so silent. Arthur had tried to persuade them to be a little less… aggressive, but Merlin saw the smile he wore when they told him the tales of a noble too big for his boots.

Today, though, today was finally the day. The day that whether the hatred of some nobles stopped or not, it would be legal for him to do as he pleased with them. Within the bounds of respectability, of course. But he would no longer be forced to hide in the shadows, he could show himself, his true power. His true worth. And he could do it stood by a man who had truly changed, who truly understood him, who truly cared for him.

Today was the day, magic would be legalised, officially, and Merlin took the position of Court Sorcerer.

_And ignite your bones_

It was from Mordred, that she heard news of Camelot. Her heart was aching, her body old before its time, her mind weak with the years of stress and strain of never truly belonging anywhere. When Mordred had come to her, to tell her that now magic was accepted, legal, in fact, in Camelot, she did not know how to react.

She bent over, a crushing weight of every emotion pulling her down like gravity. She held a hand to her stomach, holding herself up with the other resting on a table in another decrepit hovel she had found rest. Breathing heavily, she screamed, a terrifying, nauseating sound. Blinking, tears fell from her dry eyes, the purple shadowing underneath stinging a little with the flow of sorrow. It had been so long since she had let herself cry, because to do so would have been weak, but now, there was nothing else she could feel.

Was she angry that they had brought magic back now, when she had been denounced for it? Incredibly so, the ache of it was devastating, and she screamed again, emotions tearing at her from the inside. They had taken her cause from her, now, too. The hatred that she felt had been solely directed into aiding her brethren, her true, magical kin, but now there was no fight to be had. The fight had been won, but without a battle. Lives had been lost, though, including her own. It had been lost, so long ago, looking in a mirror could never show her who she truly was.

Mordred came back, she wondered why. What could he need from her? What could anybody need from her? She was weak, her limbs tired, her heart weak, her soul fading with every passing day. There was no fire in her anymore, she was just so _tired_. The anger, with nothing and nobody to direct it to, was leaving her body with every aching step she took. But, if she let it go, there was only sadness to be felt, and she was afraid. Fearful to confront what had happened.

“There is still a place for you,” Mordred spoke, “at Camelot. For all those with magic.”

He sounded so hopeful, too naïve. Morgana huffed, arguing that she could not be accepted back into Camelot. Every step she had taken was stuck fast, permanent. There would never be any turning back. She had nobody to return for, either. It was hard to remember, who had betrayed who first, the years all blurring together. They had been filled so much with an unquenchable rage, that it did not surprise her she was not happy when magic returned to the land. Because she had learned long ago, that she had been guided by different strings at every moment, and now they had been cut, she wilted to the floor.

“Arthur will not turn you away,” Mordred said, with a surety that made Morgana curious. 

_And I will try to fix you_

Arthur was surprised when she arrived. There had been years without issue, and he was beginning to wonder if she had passed. He had felt a sadness at being unable to know for sure, partly because he could not know if the kingdom was safe, but predominantly because Morgana would always be his kin. For her to die, alone, unwanted, unknown, would have caused him considerable pain.

Yet, she had not passed. His sister still held some resentment, anger, sadness that they could not have legalised magic sooner, but she had returned. The years had not been kind to her, but neither had they to him, as they both shared mental and physical scars of their wars against one another.

Merlin was worried, nervous, that she had returned. Their first meeting had not gone well, and Arthur bit his lip, anxious it was too good to be true. Gwen and the knights, too, were suspicious of her motives for arriving, when there had been so much silence. She had caused them all much pain, that he could not argue against their misgivings, but he could not turn her away. Because, when he looked at her, he recognised the look. The look of a thousand apologies and regrets, that would never leave even if forgiven. The look that made a person appear weathered and held down. It was so familiar, that he allowed her some time.

~~~~~

He was old now, years catching up to him. There was a time he believed he would not make it to this age, that he might die young, most likely in battle. That was always a hero’s dream, but he was no hero. He was only a man, who had made so many mistakes, and fortune had given him the time to right them. He had no right to die in battle, but rather to die knowing that he slipped up in his youth. To die with Merlin by his side, as he always had been, but on equal standing, both free of their secrets, of their blame. To die with Morgana, knowing she shared his nightmares. To die with the knowledge that he had fixed his mistakes, had followed the right path, finally.

**Author's Note:**

> So this began as some simple expansion on the deleted scene and then it turned into this... It just happens, I guess.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and if you do, smash the kudos button or even leave a comment! :)


End file.
